


A Very Griffin Fake Christmas

by MaloryArcher



Series: #ClexaWeek2017 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: #ClexaWeek2017, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10061375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaloryArcher/pseuds/MaloryArcher
Summary: The Griffin family is convinced that Clarke and Lexa are dating, and, eventually, it seems easier for both women to go with it than it would be to make a plausible case for denial.#ClexaWeek2017 Day Four: Fake Dating and Day Six: Friends to Lovers





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Clexa Week. I'm honestly having the time of my life writing these very short things.

The first time one of Clarke’s relatives assumes Lexa is her girlfriend is at the Griffin family Christmas gathering. Really, it’s in early-February, because there are too many Griffins with too many conflicts for Christmas day to work for them all, and because Clarke and her parents spent the actual holiday with her mom’s side of the family. Still, almost all the Griffins are together in the house where Clarke’s grandparents started their family and Grandpa Griffin is donning a Santa suit and serving mulled cider, so it _feels_ like Christmas.

Every year, the Griffins come together to capture the spirit of a big family Christmas, and everyone gets assigned a job to make the weekend as authentic as possible. Clarke’s dad is outside with her aunt Julie and a few of the cousins and their partners, wrapping Christmas lights around the shrubs that line the long driveway and fighting over how best to wire them without repeating the great power outage of 2012. Her mom and uncle Joe are in the den with the little kids and Grandpa Griffin, decorating the artificial trees they set up whenever they want to make a holiday out of an average weekend. Some of her cousins are hanging stockings, and some are still making trips up and down the stairs to bring the old Christmas figurines out of storage. Clarke’s aunt Janine is upstairs leading a team in spreading out sleeping bags and piles of blankets and pillows for the huge sleepover.

Clarke and her cousin Dylan are the exception to the rule, even if the rest of the family doesn’t realize it yet. Every year, they spend the first day shuffling aimlessly between rooms, valiantly avoiding being assigned jobs. It’s a long running game between the two of them, seeing how long it takes the rest of the family to notice. This time, Dylan drags a broom around, not sweeping, just letting the bristles of it trail behind him, giving everyone the impression that he’s either about to clean up, or has just finished cleaning up. When she thinks someone is about to ask her to do something, Clarke fixates on something that’s already done, changing it or rearranging it as though her perfectionism is the only reason she can’t do any of the heavy lifting.

Lexa, on the other hand, is doing plenty of heavy lifting in the kitchen, wearing what Clarke and her cousins believe to be the ugliest apron—the one patterned with the round, smiling faces of straw-haired, button-eyed children—from Grandma Griffin’s expansive apron collection and a smile. She didn’t take Clarke’s warning about avoiding eye contact with Grandma Griffin until all the work was done, and now she’s on hand mixing duty with two of Clarke’s cousins and one of their boyfriends. Grandma Griffin doesn’t believe in electric kitchen tools, and swears that the best desserts are made with love and without machines. Conveniently, Grandma Griffin always supervises the hand mixing, and leaves the wrist cramping to the young people. Clarke wonders if Lexa regrets accepting her invitation yet.

Clarke and Dylan work together, pantomiming carrying a heavy box from the kitchen to the basement, even though the box is empty, and when they get back, Clarke sees Grandma Griffin chatting with Lexa. She does this sometimes, when one of the Griffins brings along a newcomer, whether it’s a friend from school or a fiancée, to get to know them better and make sure they feel welcome, so Clarke doesn’t think much of it until she’s standing in the doorway, close enough to hear her.

“I’m just glad one of my grandchildren finally brought home someone who can bake,” her grandma says, and then adds, “Don’t worry, Tyler, you’ll learn,” when Clarke’s cousin Leah and her boyfriend scoff from the other side of the kitchen in their matching sunflower patterned aprons.

Then her grandmother leans in conspiratorially and stage-whispers, “A lost cause, that boy. At least Leah hasn’t set off any smoke alarms this year. You’re my best shot at passing down my cookie recipe and knowing it won’t be ruined.”

The brunette is rolling out dough, while Clarke’s grandma periodically sprinkles flour over it for her, and Clarke knows Lexa has the official Grandma Griffin baking seal of approval when she doesn’t push her out of the way to demonstrate the _proper_ thickness of a sugar cookie.

“I try,” Lexa says, “but I don’t think I’m on your level yet, Mrs. Griffin.”

“Maybe not, but you’re a hell of a lot better than Clarke, and I expect at least one promising baker per couple in this family.”

Clarke almost interjects, because she’s really not that bad of a baker, when the words register. Lexa’s eyes bulge, and then she blinks a lot, like, far more than normal, and she clears her throat.

“Clarke and I aren’t—”

“You can’t lie to old women, Lexa. We know too much.”

Clarke’s grandma is wrong, of course, but Clarke can see where she might get that idea. This is Lexa’s first Griffin family Christmas, but she fits right in. She gets along as well with most of Clarke’s cousins as the blonde does; she gets along _better_ with Audrey, who Clarke loves, in theory, but can’t be alone in a room with for more than ten minutes. Clarke invited her because Lexa had no plans, because she doesn't have much family and has never had them all together at once, and because Clarke would’ve spent the whole time texting her anyway.

“But we’re not—” Lexa tries again, her hands frozen on the rolling pin.

“It’s okay, dear. Didn’t Clarke tell you she and Noah took me to one of those proud parades? The one with all the flags and the men in heels, you know. Noah’s gay, and I love him. Clarke’s, what’s that word again?”

“Bisexual?” Lexa offers.

“Right. Clarke’s a bisexual, and I love her. Grandma Griffin loves her gay grandchildren, Lexa, so you don’t have to hide things from me.”

Clarke’s about to jump in the conversation when Dylan elbows her in the ribs, raises an eyebrow at her, and smirks, clearly under the impression that Grandma Griffin knows more about Clarke and Lexa’s relationship than they do.

“I’m really not hiding anything,” Lexa says, getting back into her rolling rhythm, “Clarke and I are friends.”

“Sounds fake, but okay,” Henry says from his spot at the other counter, his braces gleaming as he looks at Lexa, and Leah and Tyler laugh. Lexa freezes again and looks over at him incredulously, one hand still tight around the rolling pin, the other absentmindedly spreading flour onto the already disastrous countertop.

“Oh, my gosh, guys,” Clarke finally huffs when it’s clear that Lexa doesn’t know how to respond, “please leave my _platonic_ friend alone. I love you, too, Grandma, but Lexa and I aren’t together. And it’s called Pride. A pride parade, not a proud parade, for future reference.”

Lexa seems to relax when she sees Clarke in the doorway. Her shoulders loosen a little, and she widens her eyes for just a second, like a signal that only Clarke can see. Well, Clarke and Dylan, whose mop of curly blond hair bounces when he snorts at Lexa’s signal.

Her grandmother doesn’t have to say anything to express her disbelief. She smiles at Clarke, but her lips pull into a thin line and pucker slightly instead of spreading into the wide, warm grin Clarke is so used to. She tilts her head at Clarke and the space between her brows and her hairline gets even more densely wrinkled. She wipes her thin hands on her pink apron, reaches out to Lexa, gives her free hand a few gentle pats, and then, keeping eye contact with Clarke, says, “Of course, dear,” before looking at Lexa and saying, “I’m an old lady. What do I know?”

The others in the kitchen laugh and Clarke just smiles and asks, “Still wishing you had with a big family?”

Lexa shrugs and gives Clarke another look meant just for her and says, “Maybe.”

 

 

They make it through a very Griffin Christmas in one piece, and Lexa handles the noise and the chaos and the invasive questions well. Clarke makes certain that the brunette gets the full big family Christmas experience, dragging her caroling around the block with the most obnoxious of the Griffins, who are the only ones who refuse to let little things like social norms stop them from singing to their neighbors in February.

The blonde lets Lexa goad her into decorating the cookies that Lexa made with the little kids, and they make a huge mess that Clarke convinces her doesn’t need to be cleaned up until tomorrow. Clarke tells the brunette that her yellow snowman with sprinkles and a scarf made of Twizzlers is adorable; she even bites back the urge to mention the time when Henry peed on a snowman and made it look just like Lexa’s does now, because the other woman beams at her so brightly, and Clarke doesn’t want to ruin it. But, Lexa's smile doesn't even dim when little David grabs the snowman in his chubby fist and bites the head off with his three teeth, and Clarke doesn't think she could ruin it if she tried. 

She pours Lexa cups of mulled cider until she can practically smell cloves seeping out Lexa’s pores, and then they sneak into Grandpa Griffin’s spiked eggnog stash with Dylan, Leah, and Tyler, even though they’re all in their twenties, because tradition requires it.

On their makeshift Christmas day, Lexa has a gift from her secret Santa, and gives one to Audrey’s fiancé Michael, because there is no way that every Griffin could afford to buy presents for everyone else. The whole family laughs uncomfortably when they see that Dylan packed condoms as a gag gift to go with the book Lexa wanted. Lexa also gets a pajama set that matches Clarke’s, and Grandma Griffin doesn’t even draw attention to the fact that all the couples in the room got matching pajamas while the singles didn’t. Clarke is ninety percent sure that her entire family thinks they’re together, and she doesn’t bother correcting them, because, apparently, they won’t believe her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Griffin family is still convinced Clarke and Lexa are together. Instead of trying to convince them otherwise, Clarke lets them believe what they want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent all of ten minutes brainstorming ways to write an alternate canon one shot that didn't bum me out for Clexa Week, but it didn't happen, so I decided to spend a little more time with Lexa, Clarke, and the Griffins.
> 
> Consider this my Day Five piece.

“Are you sure, you want to do this, Clarke? Your family already thinks we’re together,” Lexa says, scooting her seat a little closer.

The music is a little too loud, and they’re both a couple drinks in. All their friends have gone off to dance, and Clarke and Lexa are sitting at the semi-crowded bar, talking about weddings.

“That’s what makes it perfect,” Clarke says, both of her hands folded around her vodka cranberry, “they think we’re together and they love you.”

Clarke’s cheeks feel warm, and she hopes Lexa can’t tell. She relaxes back into her barstool. She’s a little drunk, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea.

“You could ask Octavia,” Lexa says, glancing over her shoulder at the dance floor, “or Raven, or Bellamy, or Lincoln, or—”

“I’m asking you,” Clarke says, and, if she can make out the pink tinge in Lexa’s cheeks, then the other woman can see it in Clarke’s, too.

“I don’t know about this, Clarke.”

Lexa looks away, peeling the label on her beer in uneven little strips. Clarke watches her for a few seconds, watches the way she methodically sticks the strips back to the bottle, piling them on top of each other until they look like the limb of an undergrown cactus.

“You can say no, Lexa. It was just an idea.”

Clarke takes a long swallow of her drink and prepares herself to be shot down.

“Why aren’t you asking Kyle?” Lexa turns her head to look at Clarke, but doesn’t ease back off her elbows. “You’re _actually_ dating him. Seems like a prime time to introduce him to the Griffins.”

“I’m _seeing_ Kyle, not _dating_ him,” Clarke reasons, “besides, if I wanted to ask Kyle, I would’ve asked him.”

“Yeah, but why don’t you want to,” Lexa asks, signaling the bartender for another beer.

“Are you going to marry Echo,” Clarke blurts. She doesn’t mean to be abrupt, but Lexa’s making this far more difficult than it should be. Clarke’s been thinking of asking her for weeks, about Echo, and about this.

“Wow,” Lexa laughs, “Where is that coming from?”

It’s not like it’s that far-fetched. They’re adults, and Lexa hasn’t been with Echo long, but Clarke knows more than a few people who’ve rushed into marriage in their early twenties.

“Are you,” she presses. The bartender replaces Lexa's empty beer with a full one.

“Probably not, but I don’t get why that matters,” Lexa says.

“I just—” Clarke lets out a huge breath and leans forward until her eyes are level with Lexa’s, “I’m not trying to be a jerk, or callous, or whatever, but I’m not marrying Kyle. Like, I’m not even a little bit interested in sharing my life with him. He’s nice, and we’re having fun, but I’m not asking him because I don’t roll out the full Griffin experience for just anybody.”

“What does that mean, Clarke,” Lexa asks slowly. She leans her cheek on her fist.

“It means Kyle won’t always be in my life, Lex. We’ll get bored and move on, and it probably won’t even hurt, but I don’t want him tangled up with my family. You’re already tangled. I don’t want to untangle you.”

Lexa stares at Clarke for a long second and then pulls her drink from between her hands and moves it right beside her beer.

Clarke swats at her leg and says, “I’m not drunk, you ass. I’m serious. We may be seeing other people, but, for the foreseeable future, _you_ are my most significant other. I don’t want to ask anybody else.”

Lexa looks away again, this time looking at the colorful display of liquor bottles behind the bar. She takes a swig of her beer. Clarke waits.

“For the record, I think this is a terrible idea, and it feels a lot like lying to your whole family,” Lexa says without looking at Clarke.

“They love you, maybe even more than me, and it isn’t really lying if we just let them keep drawing their own conclusions,” Clarke says.

“Lying by omission, then, Clarke,” Lexa says.

“In your mind, maybe, but you’re more respectable than I am. No way I’m letting Grandpa Griffin know who really used his autographed Mickey Mantle baseball for batting practice after all these years.”

They both laugh, and Clarke studies the side of Lexa’s face for a moment before asking, “Does this mean you’re saying no?”

Lexa looks at Clarke then, and the blonde can tell that she’s biting at the inside of her cheek, even if she doesn’t understand why.

“I’m saying,” she starts, scooting Clarke’s drink back to her, “that if you still think this is a good idea in the morning, when everything is brighter and clearer and you’re sober, then I’m in.”

Clarke throws her arms around the brunette and squeezes until she’s patting weakly at Clarke's arms and squeaking out something about not being able to breathe.

 

 

In the morning, Clarke wakes up a little hungover on one end of Lincoln’s sectional couch, still convinced that it’s a good idea. She jabs her toe into all the parts of Lexa’s extended forearm she can reach, until the brunette is up, grunting and groggy and agreeing to another of Clarke’s invitations.

 

 

The next time someone in Clarke’s family assumes she’s dating Lexa is at her cousin Audrey’s wedding in May, and Clarke doesn’t correct them. 

The ceremony is outdoors, at the same camp where Audrey and Michael met, because Clarke’s cousin says she fell for her fiancé while trading ghost stories in the pavilion they’re setting up now. Almost all the Griffins are together again, and all hands are on deck to keep Bridezilla from melting down in the heat of the early afternoon.

The venue is gorgeous, but it’s also a summer camp. There are chairs and tables scattered around on what’s supposed to be the dance floor, and, just a few hours before it starts, the Griffins realize that Audrey’s _intimate and cost effective_ wedding only meets those descriptors because her family and friends are her workforce.

There’s a flower-covered altar standing alone in the clearing where the chairs need to go, as well as a detailed plan of where the bride and groom would like everything else to be set up, and Clarke is the only one who doesn’t pretend to be surprised, even when both her parents shoot her glances of warning. She, and everyone around her get to work, trying to give Audrey the dream wedding she’s always wanted, but is a little too cheap to have planned.

Clarke and Dylan are tempted to revive their game, especially since Clarke and Lexa specifically bought new dresses that she doesn’t want to sweat through, but Leah and Katie pop up in their bridesmaid dresses with armfuls of bug-repellant tiki torches talking about how anxious their sister is about mosquitoes ruining her big day, and Clarke rolls her eyes, but finds the box of lighters and helps them.

Michael’s groomsmen set up the tables and haul chairs to their rightful spots, while Clarke’s aunt Julie tries to orchestrate the little kids into spreading table cloths and placing centerpieces. There are women Clarke doesn’t know manipulating the flower arrangements, and there are men trying to hang a tall banner with nails and a rickety ladder. Henry’s only job is to run around with tubes of sunscreen, but he does it so thoroughly, reminding people to reapply often unless they want to look radioactive in the pictures, that Clarke’s oddly proud of the little shit.

She spots Lexa with Noah and her dad, trying to set up the speaker system for the reception and smiles. Noah’s under the speaker table trying to figure something out, and Lexa doesn’t hesitate to hitch her dress up to her mid-thighs and crawl under there to help him. She looks gorgeous in her short, pale pink eyelet dress, which is unremarkable, because she always looks gorgeous, but there’s something about seeing her like this, putting her brand new dress at risk and crawling on the dusty ground just to see Audrey and Michael happy, that sort of floors Clarke.

“For two platonic besties, you sure do give each other heart eyes a lot,” Dylan says, pulling the lighter out of her hand and walking backwards away from her, “Can’t imagine why people think you’re next on the engagement chopping block.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and hurls a small rock as soon as his back is turned. It hits him square in the back of his obnoxiously loud floral printed blazer, and he just laughs and brushes it off.

When she looks back at Lexa, the brunette is on her feet again, smiling softly at Clarke.

 

 

The ceremony is a beautiful, buggy affair for anyone more than ten feet from one of those tiki torches, but it’s pretty perfect, too. There are sprawling potted plants on the edges of the clearing; there are fresh-smelling lavender buds in the aisle; the chairs fill the space perfectly. Lexa is beside Clarke, her arm loosely draped on the back of Clarke’s chair. 

The sun is high in the cloudless sky, and everything is in its proper place.

Clarke cries at one point, because Audrey gets too choked up to finish her vows and makes Michael read them for her, but he’s unbothered when he takes the crumpled paper out of her hand and smiles so broadly that Clarke knows her cousin has finally found someone who can deal with her brand of crazy. Lexa pulls a tissue out of her clutch, helps Clarke to dab at her eyes without smearing her makeup, and squeezes her shoulder.

Clarke swears her grandma has a sixth sense, because she looks over her shoulder and winks at them.

After they’ve said their “I dos”, there’s a mad dash to get everyone where they need to be. Guests head to the pavilion for a light dinner, everyone who isn’t family dragging a chair or two, since there weren’t quite enough for both spots. The bridal party is already done with their photos, but Audrey and Michael still want them with their huge, extended family.

Clarke pulls Lexa along by the hand toward the photographer. When the brunette asks whether she should be in the photo, Abby overhears and laughs out loud before guiding her into the space between her and Clarke, right in front of Jake.

 

Lexa really is the perfect date, Clarke realizes. She’s stunning, well-mannered, and she always appreciates Clarke’s whispered jokes about Michael’s relative with the ten-gallon hat on, or how Uncle Joe exhausted all three of his dance moves already, but still has two more daughters to marry off. Lexa takes care of the peppers that Clarke picks off her salad, and then doesn’t bat an eyelash or miss a beat in conversation when the blonde steals bites of eggplant off her plate.

Lexa also gets Clarke out of all those small moments of awkwardness, when some cousin of a cousin tries have an engaging conversation about the weather, or their high school basketball stats. Clarke is outgoing, and she can handle big groups, but Lexa is so much better than she is at managing the small talk and the unsolicited anecdotes. She doesn’t groan when Aunt Janine starts in on the same riveting cat story she shared at Christmas. Clarke would probably slink away to a dark corner with Dylan or Leah and pray for nobody to approach her if Lexa wasn’t right here with her.

And Lexa can work a dance floor like nobody’s business.

First, they play the classics, the uptempo songs that everyone knows the steps to. Clarke doesn’t always expect it from her fairly reserved best friend, but when Lexa dances, she’s like a flame. Clarke doesn’t know how else to describe the way people tend to gravitate toward the brunette when she lets herself get lost in the music. Clarke doesn’t know how else to describe the way _she_ gravitates to Lexa, when she’s like this. She could be doing the “Hokey Pokey” and still draw a crowd.

Later, long after the sun has set and some of the parents have taken their small children home, they break out a stretch of slow, romantic songs. Clarke freezes for a second, because she’s danced with Lexa before, even to slow songs, but this time something feels different. Something about the way she looks, or the way she looks at Clarke in her lacy blue dress and reminds her how well it brings out the color of her eyes, or the soft glow of the torches and pavilion lights. The beat slows, and Clarke hesitates, arms limply at her side, feet rooted to the ground.

Lexa swipes a hand across the sheen on her face and the lets it trail up to her hairline to fluff her loose curls.

And _something_ feels different, but Clarke’s afraid to think about what it might mean.

“Hey lesbians,” Audrey’s voice cuts through Clarke’s thoughts as she sways by with Michael, “save your ‘cutest couple campaign’ crap for the next family event that isn’t my wedding and dance already.”

She pulls Michael a few feet away just as quickly as she swooped in, and he mouths out _I’m so sorry_ , but he’s also failing to hold back a huge grin as he tugs his new wife closer.

“Sorry,” Clarke starts, but Lexa just steps closer to her, until her sandals are on either side of one of Clarke’s, and her hands are snaking around Clarke’s waist.

“Don’t be. They’re your family, Clarke. I love your family.”

A few curls bounce into Lexa’s eyes, and Clarke tucks them back with one hand and loops the other around Lexa’s neck. Her skin is so warm and just a little bit moist and Clarke lets her hand linger in Lexa’s hair longer than she needs to, just because she can.

Everyone thinks they’re together anyway.

“Thank you for coming,” Clarke says, and she lets her left hand join her right on Lexa’s neck.

“I could do a lot worse than to have you as my date, Clarke.”

They get through a couple songs, just swaying together, getting used to the warmth of each other’s skin, before Clarke gets tapped on the shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in,” Grandma Griffin asks, and Lexa nods and starts to back away until Grandma Griffin reaches for her hand and pulls her back. “I’ll get her back to you in one piece, Clarke. Don’t you worry.”

Lexa follows Grandma Griffin’s lead, letting the woman pull one tan hand to her arm and clasp the other in her own.

“I know all about dancing with ladies, Lexa. I went to a _pride_ parade.”

Clarke snorts and falls into step with Grandpa Griffin when he gets over the shock of being traded for a younger partner. She lets her grandpa lead her around, half listening to him, trying to catch snippets of whatever has Lexa laughing out loud and her grandma looking smug.

“That Lexa’s really something,” Grandpa Griffin says, when Clarke stops craning her neck. He smirks at her, then throws in a wink, and her cheeks flush with heat.

The brunette is spinning slowly under Grandma Griffin’s arm and beaming, and yeah, Clarke thinks, she really is.

The entire Griffin family still thinks they’re together, and, for the life of her, Clarke can’t remember why that’s a bad thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a little soul searching and some advice from Raven and Anya, Clarke comes to a realization. This time, when the Griffins assume Clarke and Lexa are together, Clarke wishes they weren't wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have suggested that this story wasn't finished yet, so I'm going for four chapters total (and sneakily adding on that friend to lovers tag a few days late).
> 
> I've really appreciated the comments and kudos, and I'll try to finish up the final chapter in the next couple of days (after I update my slightly dusty main project, Tuesdays at the Lark).
> 
> Happy reading!

Clarke has a problem, and it’s sitting right in front of her. Echo is all glossy, beach waves and mile-long eyelashes and pouty lips across the table, and she’s fawning over Lexa. She’s feeding her bites of strawberry on a fork and kissing the juice from the corner of her mouth. One of Echo’s arms is around Lexa’s shoulders, sporadically tracing the tattoo on her bicep, and she keeps offering up sips of her bloody Mary, _just in case the mimosa is too sweet_ , even though Lexa loves mimosas, and specifically requested to have brunch somewhere with bottomless mimosas. The conversation goes on around them, but, except for the few moments when Lexa has the presence of mind to look embarrassed, Echo monopolizes all her attention.

They’re not always this gross, or Lexa isn’t, at least, but Echo’s just back from a week away on a business trip, and she’s missed Lexa, apparently. She’s missed her so much that she just dropped in the on the brunch plans Lexa had with Clarke, Anya, and Raven.

Clarke’s left hand is tight around her fork, flat metal pressing uncomfortably against her flesh. She tries for a smile, but it comes off feeling like a grimace.

She feels a hand slide to her knee and squeeze gently and tears her eyes away from them to look at Raven, who’s narrowing her eyes at Clarke. Her pupils dart from the blonde to the women on the other side of the table and back. Clarke just shrugs and looks down at her untouched omelet.

Lexa and Echo are too wrapped up in each other to notice.

 

 

Clarke never does find her appetite. Instead, she pushes food around her plate and has three mimosas while trying not to look at Lexa.

It’s been two months since Audrey’s wedding, and Clarke feels like all she’s been doing is looking at Lexa.

When everyone else is done eating, Clarke is tipsy and irritable. Raven must sense it, because she offers to foot the bill, and then shoos Lexa and Echo away with a bright smile, telling them to take their face sucking elsewhere. When Anya starts to get up, Raven kicks her in the shin under the table, and then tells Lexa and Echo that the three of them are going to stay and make the most of the bottomless mimosas.

Lexa and Echo make their way around the table, doling out hugs and cheek kisses, and Clarke accepts them and feels a little bit like crying when Lexa briefly squeezes her shoulder on the way out.

“They’re so cute and gross,” Anya says, flagging the waiter down for a few more drinks, “I’m surprised they even made it out of bed.”

Raven kicks her again, and Anya’s about to pitch a fit over being kicked _twice_ in the last few minutes until Raven nods at Clarke. There’s a silent standoff or sorts, with all eyes on her until the waiter drops off their drinks a minute later.

Clarke takes a long swig, hoping to find the courage to tell them how she’s been feeling in the bottom of her glass. After two months trying and failing to figure out how to deal with this, she needs all the help she can get.

“What’s wrong with her,” Anya asks Raven. She squints at Clarke, reaches over and prods the blonde’s free hand like a found object.

“I don’t know. She’s been quiet all morning.”

“So, it must be bad?”

“I’m assuming, since she looks like a dark cloud. She was pouting at Lexa and Echo, too, but that could be anything. I’m assuming she’s not mad, since she doesn’t get mad at Lexa,” Raven says.

“Right, so disgust, maybe? They _were_ being gross. Or jealousy,” Anya offers.

“Could be jealousy,” Raven agrees, “maybe she’s finally moving into the angsty post-breakup stage after Kyle, but I thought she didn’t really like him?”

“I thought the same thing, but look at that face,” Anya says, and at this point, they’re talking across the table to each other about Clarke, which is somehow worse as their third wheel than being passively left to drink her breakfast as a fifth wheel, even without all the public displays of affection.

“I _am_ sitting right here, you know,” Clarke reminds them.

“Seems like you’ve been fine with drinking your feelings instead of talking about them today, so I thought we should give you a minute,” Raven says simply.

“You’ve got to give us something to work with here. We’re not Lexa. We can’t read your mind, Clarke.”

Neither can Lexa, apparently, or, if she can, it still hasn’t changed anything.

“When did you two know that you wanted to be more than friends?”

The two of them share a long look of surprise, and then confusion.

“Wait,” Anya starts, “is this about Lexa?”

“Just answer the question. Please,” Clarke pleads.

She must sound awfully pathetic, because they look at her, then at each other, and decide to go along with it. Anya leans forward, resting her elbow on the table and angling herself toward Clarke; she tilts her head and crinkles her brow. Raven sits back in her chair and stares off at some fixed point high on the wall, biting her lip. After a couple of seconds, Raven sort of nods to herself and straightens back up.

“For me, it was back in college. I’d been up for, like, three straight days trying to draft plans for my senior project, and Anya found me in a study room at the library crying my eyes out on a stack of blueprint paper. I thought she was going to laugh at me for being such mess since she was still pretending to be an asshole half the time—”

“I wasn’t _that_ —” Anya starts defensively. 

“But,” Raven cuts in, “she straightened out all my paper so it wouldn’t get wrecked, wrapped her arms around me, and let me cry for a while. Then she set an alarm and made me take a nap, and, when I woke up with my head on her shoulder feeling a million times better, everything clicked.”

Raven and Anya’s eyes connect over the table, and they share these little smiles, and Clarke’s heart doesn’t hurt any less, because the “clicking” thing might make sense, but that doesn’t make it easy.

“What about you,” Clarke asks Anya, “when did you know?”

“Long before then. I think I knew within a few days of meeting her. I just wanted to be around her, all the time, and I never want that.”

“Aww, babe, you’re such a sap,” Raven says, reaching her hand out toward Anya. The other woman groans, but reaches out, just the same.

“What’s this all about Clarke,” Anya asks, Raven’s fingers laced securely in hers.

Clarke takes a deep breath and stares at their hands.

“I think I’m in love with Lexa,” she admits.

“Yeah, and,” Anya drawls, as though she doesn’t understand the problem.

“What do you mean ‘and’,” Clarke snaps, “This has been the biggest thing on my mind for _months_ , Anya.”

“But it’s not exactly—”

Raven untangles their fingers and fixes Anya with a stern look before turning to Clarke. Anya pouts at her and sips her drink.

“I’m assuming, based on what we all witnessed this morning, that you haven’t talked to Lexa about any of this,” Raven says.

“I wanted to figure my feelings out first,” Clarke says, “I needed to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, or a heavy moment, or too much wine. It wasn’t any of those things, though. It was just Lexa.”

“Okay, so you love her,” Anya says, “what are you going to do about it?”

Clarke can think of a few things, and all of them sound awful. She could run back to Kyle, who she hasn’t seen since a week after the wedding, when her mind had set itself on Lexa and her body couldn’t overrule it, and hope that, by some divine miracle she could fuck her feelings away. She could run away altogether, and save Lexa the trouble of having to shoot her down. She could try lying to herself again, try to launch herself back into the same willful stupidity that allowed her to overlook Lexa in the first place.

But all those things mean having less Lexa in her life, and Clarke doesn’t want that.

“What’d you do before Raven wanted you back,” Clarke asks, because she’s never, in years of knowing her, had trouble being Lexa’s friend, but now? Now, Clarke doesn’t know how to function around her.

“My methods wouldn’t work for you, Clarke. I spent months telling myself that my feelings would disappear if I distracted myself with a million meaningless flings, or if I avoided Raven altogether, but that made me miserable. I had to be around her, and it hurt, but I didn’t say anything because I was a coward, and I didn’t want to scare her off.”

“You can’t do that, though,” Raven says, “Anya didn’t tell me because she was a feelings rookie, and we didn’t know each other the way we do now. You and Lexa are different. I can’t say for sure how she’ll react, but I do know there’s literally nothing you could do to scare Lexa off.”

So far, Clarke thinks.

“She’s my best friend,” Clarke says, “and she has a ridiculously hot, glamorous girlfriend who she’s been with for months. Even if it doesn’t send her running for the hills, I don’t want to make her feel weird about being around me.”

“Have you stopped to think about whether she feels the same way,” Raven asks.

“We’ve been friends for years. I’m pretty sure she would’ve told me if she ever felt anything for me.”

“Like you’re telling her now,” Anya asks, raising her brows.

“That’s not fair,” Clarke says, “I don’t want to mess up what she has with Echo.”

“If it’s really all that special, then being honest won’t mess it up, but whatever you’re doing right now isn’t working. It’s making you miserable, and if we can see that, then so can Lexa. Hiding things from her is the only surefire way to hurt her, Clarke.”

“Anya’s right,” Raven says, “we’ve _all_ been friends for years, Clarke, but I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve told me things first. It’s always her. Lexa is the one person you share everything with, and this is too big to hide from her.”

“When you put it like that, it makes it sound like I’ve always been in love with her,” Clarke says, her voice quiet.

“That’s always been my theory,” Anya shrugs.

“You could’ve given me a heads-up, you know?”

“Where’s the fun in that,” Anya asks, and then she grins at Clarke and says, “For what it’s worth, I’m living proof that, sometimes, you get the girl.”

She and Raven share another smile, and, this time, Clarke smiles along with them.

 

 

When Clarke opens her apartment door, Lexa’s on the other side with a half-melted tub of peanut butter fudge ice cream.

After yesterday’s brunch, Clarke knows Raven and Anya are right, and that Lexa would want to know what’s going on in her head. It took a full day to gather her courage, but Clarke sent Lexa a mid-morning text asking to hang out after work, just the two of them, so they could chat, and here she is, a little sweaty, in a cutoff t-shirt and running shorts.

Clarke waits until they’re settled on the couch, essentially eating ice cream soup, and already done chatting about their days, to test the waters.

Lexa is cross-legged on the other side of the carton, her hair piled into the messiest of messy buns on top of her head, staring down intently to be sure she doesn’t spill on the couch, and Clarke’s whole chest clenches at the thought of not getting to see this side of her again, or as often. But Lexa deserves to know, and she would want to know.

“There’s actually a reason I asked you to come over tonight,” Clarke starts.

“Yeah, I know. Free ice cream,” Lexa says, “you’re not that sneaky.”

“It wasn’t that,” Clarke says, “it’s something else.”

Lexa seals her lips around her spoon and pulls it out clean, giving Clarke an unreadable expression, and drops it onto the lid. Clarke just drops hers into the carton.

“Is this about Dylan’s thing,” Lexa asks, and it Clarke honestly doesn’t know what she’s talking about until she says, “because he told me we absolutely can’t miss his band’s show, and that Grandma and Grandpa Griffin expect to be facetimed in, so I already RSVP’d for both of us.”

Clarke’s had enough on her mind lately that she forgot about Dylan’s invitation to his band’s first big show. It isn’t for another two weeks, in a bar in the college town he keeps swearing he’ll move out of as soon as he’s finished with the degree he’s been working on for six years. When he invited Clarke, Dylan _had_ mentioned Lexa, but Clarke didn’t think he’d go ahead and invite her himself.

“Wait, Dylan invited you directly?”

“We’re Facebook friends,” Lexa says with a shrug, “Besides, he thought you might forget to tell me until the last minute.”

“You know it’s two hours away, right?”

Lexa smiles at Clarke, a little uneasily maybe, and says, “ _You_ know we both have cars, right? We made it to Audrey’s wedding, and to Christmas, just fine.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want,” Clarke says, because, it might be really awkward for Lexa having all the other Griffins think she’s dating Clarke after she finds that the blonde wishes she were.

“Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s not that,” Clarke says, “I always want you with me.”

She feels herself blush, because, holy shit, she doesn’t know how to exist around Lexa without saying things like that.

“Is this about whatever’s been bothering you lately?”

“You noticed that, then?”

“I know you, Clarke,” Lexa says.

“Yeah, you do. Better than anybody.”

“What’s going on?”

“You must be getting tired of the Griffins by now,” Clarke laughs nervously, and wonders if she should’ve planned this better.

“I like your family, Clarke,” Lexa says, scrunching her face in incredulity, “My mom’s care packages can’t compete with Grandma and Grandpa Griffin’s and Noah has the best queer film recommendations.”

“They love you,” Clarke says, letting out a huge breath, “like, they think you’re the best thing since sliced bread, and I thought they were being weird and obsessive and intrusive, and, I mean, they were, but they weren’t wrong.”

“I am pretty great,” Lexa says, “but I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“You know me better than anyone,” Clarke says slowly, “and I tell you everything. When I have a stupid joke, I tell you; when I have a shitty day at work, I tell you; when I’m scared, I tell you. You’re always the first to know, and I need to tell you this, too.”

“What aren’t you telling me now?”

“I really don’t want you to hate me,” Clarke says, even though it’s more than that.

“I couldn’t. You know that, Clarke, but you’re weirding me out right now.”

She’s right, Clarke doesn’t think Lexa’s capable of hating her, but the idea of the brunette pulling away, or creating space between them that’s never existed before is petrifying.  
Lexa is biting the inside of her cheek again, and Clarke thinks it might be a nervous reaction, and feels instantly guilty for being the cause. _This is too big to hide from her_.

“I love you,” Clarke says, a little quietly, because it isn’t the first time she’s said it to Lexa, and she hopes it won’t be the last, but it means something different now.

“I love you, too,” Lexa says, drawing out the syllables until it sounds like a question.

“No, Lexa, I’m _in love_ with you,” Clarke tells her, and Lexa freezes, her mouth stuck in a little “o” shape, that’s kind of adorable, and Clarke has to look away before she can do something they’ll both regret. “And now you’re making that face, because you wish I hadn’t told you, and I’m really _really_ sorry, Lexa. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or upset or whatever, but you know me the best, and you would’ve known if I kept it from you.”

When Lexa drags a hand through her own hair, it’s like she’s moving in slow motion. She’s so quiet that Clarke has to sneak a glance, just to make sure she hasn’t disappeared. The silence doesn’t last long.

“I’m with Echo,” she says, barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Clarke says, as she feels her throat start to tighten, “I just needed to tell you, and I understand if you don’t want to go to Dylan’s thing, or if you need space, or of you never want to see me again, but I needed you to know.”

Lexa hasn’t moved from the corner of Clarke’s eye yet, but what little the blonde can see of her gets blurred by a mess of tears.

“Clarke, I—”

“You should probably go,” Clarke says, “I really didn’t mean to put you in this position, but I’m making a mess of it, and I really need to be alone right now.”

“Can I—”

“ _Please_ , Lexa.”

“Okay,” Lexa says, “I’ll go.”

Clarke doesn’t look up until the door closes softly behind her.

 

 

Time flies when you’re avoiding your best friend. Lexa texted Clarke within a minute of walking out her door, and she’s texted her about thirty times since, but Clarke hasn’t been able to bring herself to respond. She’s sent calls to voicemail, and left voicemails unplayed for two weeks.

The blonde has kept herself busy, throwing herself into the bank job she hates during the day, and finding any excuse at night to avoid her apartment until it’s late enough that she doesn’t think Lexa will be waiting for her. She knows she’s been by at least twice, but both times Clarke waited quietly until she left.

This is exactly what she didn’t want, but Clarke doesn’t know how to fix it.

 

 

This time, when the Griffins assume Clarke and Lexa are together, Clarke wishes they weren’t wrong.

The bar is small, with two windows that face the street and tint it dingy brown. It’s rundown, sections of paint peeling on the walls, and the stickiest floor Clarke has ever walked across. There’s a large, ugly, neon mural painted behind the blue-lit stage, and every stool Clarke can see is ripped enough to reveal foamy stuffing. The smell of mildew hovers in the air, and there’s a spot on the ceiling that Clarke thinks might be black mold, but she’s too afraid to ask.

She gets herself a drink first, and then wanders through the crowd looking for familiar faces. She finds Noah and his husband, James, sitting at a small table with Audrey and Michael, all clearly feeling out of place in this crowd of barely legal college kids. Clarke’s only twenty-four, but she feels it, too, especially when she spots the gaggle of girls who are already hammered and dancing to whatever shitty mid-2000s song is playing until the show starts. Her parents, aunts, and uncle all flat out refused to spend a late night in this dive, and Clarke can’t blame them.

“Where’s your better half,” Noah asks as he sweeps Clarke into a hug, “We have to trade notes on the last set of films we watched.”

“I also need to give her the biggest hug for those monogrammed towels, which I’m assuming she picked out, because I’ve seen your apartment, and that girl has all the style for the pair of you,” Audrey says when she gets her turn. Clarke pinches Audrey’s sides and rolls her eyes, because, yeah, Lexa _did_ pick out the towels, but she made Clarke go with her to pick the softest ones and decide between twelve different shades of blue.

“They’re really great towels,” Michael agrees, “and we’re grateful to you both.”

“Don’t tell me you left her to fend for herself at the bar,” James says, “those college kids are probably eating her alive.”

“She’s not—”

“There she is,” Noah interrupts, “and she found the kids.”

 _There she is_. Behind Leah and Tyler, Lexa is laughing with Katie, who’s only barely old enough to get in the club, and has years to go before she can buy a drink. The brunette waves at everyone, but her eyes lock onto Clarke, and don’t let up until they’re side-by-side.

Lexa gets all the hugs, talks about towels as though she has stock in Bed, Bath, and Beyond, and praises a film that was apparently shot entirely on an iPhone, all without taking a step away from Clarke.

When everyone has finally had their fill of her and broken off into their own conversations, Clarke’s heart starts racing. Time hasn’t helped. Space hasn’t helped. If anything, two weeks has been just enough time for Clarke to feel surprised again at how gorgeous Lexa is.

Her hair is in a long braid on one shoulder, and her black leather jacket makes her look almost dangerous, and Clarke is distracted enough to nod along when Lexa asks her to come to the bar with her. The crowd is getting denser, so Lexa tugs gently at sleeve of Clarke’s military jacket until they’re at the back of the line.

Clarke doesn’t know what to say, so she leaves her eyes trained on the spot Lexa pulled, where Clarke swears she can still feel the heat of Lexa’s fingers.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lexa says, her eyes boring into Clarke’s head.

“Yeah,” Clarke admits.

“And screening my calls.”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to pretend, or lie to me, or whatever.”

They both shuffle forward when two people get their drinks and move, and Lexa orders a Jack and Coke.

“You said I was the most significant other in your life, Clarke, and then you shut me out completely.”

She keeps her voice so even, and it only makes Clarke feel worse. The bartender slides Lexa her drink and Clarke tries to tell him to put it on her tab, but Lexa still hands him her cash.

“I didn’t want to make it any harder on you. You’re with Echo.”

They turn away from the bar, but Lexa tugs at her sleeve again to stop her from making it back to the spot the other Griffins have claimed for the show. The lights are flashing, and a middle-aged man in skinny jeans announces Dylan’s band to thunderous applause.

“What does it matter who I’m with when _you_ are _my_ most significant other, Clarke,” Lexa shouts, leaning closer to Clarke to say it.

The brunette moves into the crowd, and Clarke follows her all the way back to her cousins.

 

 

Dylan is energetic and flamboyant, as per usual, stealing the spotlight with a guitar solo in one song, crazy falsetto in another, and a washboard in a third. Noah facetimes in Grandma and Grandpa Griffin, and Leah live streams the whole thing for everybody else. The crowd loves him, but nobody cheers louder than the Griffins.

Clarke dances along as much as the drink in her hand will allow, and tries not to have heart palpitations every time her hand or arm accidentally brushes against Lexa’s.

When their set is done, Dylan’s band mates wave and go back the way they came, but he jumps right off the stage to where his cousins are and hugs every single one of them. When he gets to Clarke and Lexa, he hugs them at the same time, Clarke on his left and Lexa on his right, and it’s habit for Clarke’s arm to snake around Lexa’s back and Lexa’s to do the same.

When he lets them, both women let each other go, too, but Lexa looks at Clarke for a long moment.

All the cousins finish or abandon their drinks and shift the few feet over to the dance floor, and Clarke isn’t sure she’s in the dancing mood until Lexa grabs the drink out of her hand and leads her out there.

Lexa pulls her clear of the other Griffins, to the corner of the bar where the music is quietest, and places each of Clarke’s hands on her shoulders. The song is fast one. Clarke can see people grinding into their partners, but Lexa moves so slowly that it feels like a dream. She loops her arms around Clarke’s waist and holds her close. It’s more of a hug than a dance, especially when the brunette drops her chin to Clarke’s shoulder for a few long seconds. She smells like chamomile tea and doesn’t seem to relax until Clarke sort of snaps back into her waking life and slides her arms around her neck.

She feels Lexa sigh.

“I’ve missed you. Everything kind of sucks when you aren’t around,” Lexa says, breath warm in Clarke’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says again.

Clarke feels Lexa’s thumb pressing circles into her back, just over her tailbone, and it feels good enough that she lets her keep doing it, even if all this is setting Clarke up to hurt twice as badly later.

“Does Echo know you’re here,” Clarke asks before she can stop herself. The movement against her back stills, and Clarke thinks she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

“I wouldn’t do that to Echo, Clarke.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“For someone so brilliant, you can be really dense sometimes,” Lexa says.

“I know,” Clarke says stepping back, “I know you’re with Echo and I shouldn’t’ve told you.”

Lexa doesn’t let her get far. She catches Clarke by the hips, and steps closer again, leaning back in to reach Clarke’s ear.

“I’m not with Echo, Clarke. I haven’t been since the night you told me.”

“What,” Clarke says, and, again, her instinct is to step back, but, again, Lexa doesn’t let her.

“I really wish you’d stop running away long enough for me to tell you that I’m in love with you, Clarke.”

Clarke’s eyes get misty, this time because she wasn’t expecting to feel this sort of lightness in her chest for a very long time, if ever again. Lexa ducks her head a little to look in Clarke’s eyes and squeezes her hips gently.

“What about Echo?”

“Echo is a wonderful person, and I hope that, one day, she meets someone who loves her even half as much as I love you.”

“You love me?”

“For a while now, actually,” Lexa admits.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to make you feel weird.”

“That’s a terrible reason,” Clarke says, and Lexa raises an eyebrow at the blonde and laughs.

“Trust me, I know now.”

“You drove two hours to see the jerk who avoided you for weeks.”

“I drove two hours because I got tired of not seeing your face.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lexa says, “I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be happy.”

Clarke loops her arms back around Lexa’s neck and holds her for a second, just because she can.

“ _You_ make me happy. I wish I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Clarke says, and this dirty, moldy, dilapidated bar is not the most romantic setting she could’ve imagined, but _it’s Lexa_ , and Clarke can’t resist catching her jaw in her hand and pulling her as close as she can get without their lips touching. She leaves it to Lexa to bridge the gap, only if she wants to, only if she’s ready. She’s spent more than enough time waiting for Clarke.

“I will be more than happy to make up for lost time with you, Clarke.” 

One of the hands on Clarke hips smooths up her body, grazing her side, her arm, her neck, until it’s tangling in Clarke’s hair and tugging her across the last few centimeters.

Their lips finally meet, and Clarke can’t smell the spilled beer or the mildew or sweat of the people around them over Lexa’s chamomile calm. She smiles into the kiss, delights in the press of Lexa’s bottom lip against her top lip, and the tiniest hint of suction. Lexa smiles, too, and Clarke knows it’s the best kiss of her life even before she feels the tentative flick of Lexa’s tongue, but, after it, she knows she’s ruined for anyone else, probably forever.

Later, when they’ve barely budged an inch, still wrapped up in each other in their quiet corner, Dylan walks by with his latest conquest and tells them to get a room. It occurs to Clarke that, this time, when her family assumes she and Lexa are together, they aren’t wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of the Griffins seem too impressed that Clarke and Lexa are finally _Clarke and Lexa_ , which is almost definitely due to the fact that none of them believed for a second they weren't already together.

Lexa moves around at odd hours of the night. She rubs the tops of her feet along the soles of Clarke’s. She burrows her face into Clarke’s body, and, sometimes, she snores right into her ear. The sounds she makes are sometimes quiet and slow, like a purring kitten, and sometimes they’re quick and high-pitched, like a whistle, and, when she’s really exhausted, they’re not unlike a wood chipper. It’s the oddest thing, Clarke thinks, since she looks like an angel on earth, even when loose curls are tangled all around her head, but snores like the devil himself is hiding in the back of her throat.

Clarke has shared beds with plenty of her exes. She’s dealt with blanket hogs and night-sweaters and, once or twice, kickers. She’s been alarmed by sleepwalkers and amused by sleeptalkers and annoyed by people who kept getting up to pee. After surviving all those bedmates, Clarke thought that the one thing she couldn’t stand, the one thing that was an instant deal breaker, was snoring.

But, Clarke doesn’t hate it when Lexa snores. She actually kind of likes it.

When Clarke wakes up in the middle of the night, because she’s having a nightmare about accidentally depositing Beyoncé’s money into Lena Dunham’s bank account or being caught naked while working the drive-thru, she doesn’t need to pinch herself to make sure she’s fully awake. She doesn’t need a minute or two to catch her breath and calm herself. When Clarke wakes up in the middle of the night to Lexa snoring soundly beside her, she gets to wake up to a reality that is infinitely better than her best dream.

She doesn’t hate _that_.

So, yeah, sometimes Lexa’s snoring keeps Clarke from falling back to sleep, but not because of the sound. Sometimes, Clarke stays awake because she’s so in awe of the fact that it’s happening in a bed they share more often than not. Clarke stays up because it’s still so amazing that this angel-faced wood chipper breathing hotly into Clarke’s collar, or her ear, or her chest, is the love of her life.

It’s only been three months since the night of Dylan’s show, but settling in to a life with Lexa has been the easiest thing in the world.

They haven’t moved in together yet, not officially, but they’ve fallen into a routine splitting time between both places. Clarke has the better bed, but Lexa has the nicer shower. Lexa has a nicer view, but Clarke’s place has better parking. Lexa’s place is closer to both their jobs, but Clarke doesn’t have any noisy neighbors. They move back and forth, switching every few days, making the most of the best features of their respective apartments, happy together.

Moving in together feels inevitable, just like spending the rest of their lives together does, but they’re not in any hurry. One day, Clarke knows she and Lexa are going to be married old women, still getting mercilessly teased about how long it took to figure themselves out by their friends and family, but, for now, she’s just happy to make up for lost time.

Today, Clarke is awake long before Lexa, not because of any nightmare or any pressing work commitment, but because she didn’t have a curtain of brown curls shielding her eyes from the sun as it rose over the line of stately trees outside Lexa’s window. It’s Sunday, Clarke’s favorite day of the week, and they have hours before they have anywhere to be. The only thing she’s done for the last thirty minutes besides squinting away from the glare of the sun is enjoy the warmth of Lexa’s bare legs against hers, the gentle pressure of an arm across her stomach, and, yes, the dissonant sounds that come out of her sleeping girlfriend.

She knows when Lexa is waking up because her snores taper off into quiet, steady breathing, and her hand twitches against Clarke’s hip. Clarke lets her slowly retract long limbs, rolling and stretching until she can hear the soft popping of her joints. Green eyes flutter open, and Clarke helps her paw the hair away from her face.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Clarke says, her hand lingering behind Lexa’s ear.

“What time is it,” Lexa asks, tugging Clarke closer by the t-shirt, until they’re face-to-face.

“Still early,” Clarke says.

“Have you been up long?”

“Half hour, maybe. You kept me very entertained with your snoring though,” Clarke laughs. Lexa buries her face in the pillow and groans.

“You could’ve rolled me over,” Lexa says, clearly embarrassed, “or kicked me out of bed, Clarke. I really wouldn’t have been offended.”

“I’m not kicking you out of _your_ bed,” Clarke says, raking her fingers through Lexa’s hair again, “or mine, for that matter. Besides, I kind of like it now.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lexa says, eyeing Clarke suspiciously.

“I think I just like you better when you’re asleep. You’re cuter. Snores and all.”

“Is that so,” Lexa asks, leaning up on her elbow to run her fingers lightly along Clarke’s neck.

“You’d know if you ever saw yourself sleeping,” Clarke says, tracing her fingers along Lexa’s elbow, and skirting them over a warm forearm.

“You’re so weird, Griffin,” Lexa says, leaning down to kiss the tip of Clarke’s nose.

“And you’re ridiculously cute, Hawthorne.”

“You’re biased,” she argues, kissing the cleft in Clarke’s chin.

“Very,” she admits, giggling when Lexa’s curls tickle her jawline and neck. 

“Any chance you also think my morning breath is cute?”

“Disgustingly so,” Clarke says, and pulls the brunette to her lips.

Sunday morning are just like this: refusing to get out of bed before ten; trading lazy kisses, even with morning breath; exploring all the new ways they’re allowed to touch each other after years of operating within the boundaries of friendship. Sunday mornings are all warmth and light and Egyptian cotton sheets.

Coffee can wait. Brunch with Raven and Anya and whichever of their other friends decide to join them can wait. Paperwork and phone calls and planning their weeks can wait. On Sunday mornings, they feel like they have all the time in the world.

 

 

Somewhere in the shuffle of their Sunday afternoon, after Clarke and Lexa have finally gotten out of bed and treated their friends to brunch, Clarke misses a call from Abby. She also misses a call from Jake, and both of their voicemails. Naturally, they call Lexa instead of trying Clarke again.

The sun is still hot and high in the sky, and Clarke has a book in her hands and Lexa’s feet in her lap on a park bench not far from the brunette’s place. She looks up when Lexa’s phone rings, mostly because Lexa says _oh, it’s your dad_ , and then answers it with a casual _what’s up, Jake_ , as though the two of them are old friends. Clarke half-expects Lexa to hand the phone over, or to put it on speaker, but Lexa just bookmarks the page she’s on and falls into the conversation.

Clarke catches snippets here and there, knows that her dad must be particularly excited about something, because Lexa is laughing a lot and gasping sporadically, but not saying much. Clarke squeezes Lexa’s ankle once gently and tries her best to sink back into her book until her dad lets Lexa go.

Unsurprisingly, none of the Griffin cousins except Dylan made a big fuss about Lexa and Clarke making out most of the night of Dylan’s show because none of them had ever been convinced when Clarke and Lexa claimed they were just friends. Even if the public display of affection stood out to them, Audrey summed it up best at the end of the night when she said _glad to see you two are still as obsessed with each other as ever_ and tried calling dibs on a spot in Lexa’s side of their hypothetical bridal party.

Dylan recovered from his smug satisfaction quickly enough to loudly remind everyone that they’d better get in on the engagement bet now, since Clarke and Lexa could easily challenge Leah and Tyler’s one year or less trajectory.

Jake and Abby made up for the lack of fanfare. Clarke and Lexa took a couple weeks to make sure they were on the same page, and to enjoy being together without either of their parents saying _I told you so_ , even though Anya and Raven managed to say just that after week one, but when they told them, they had the decency to pretend to be surprised.

Clarke and Lexa had decided on a casual approach, and so Clarke _casually_ dropped into Lexa’s lap while she sat in a patio chair and kissed the corner of her mouth while they waited for Abby to finish their grilling steaks. Jake looked seconds away from exploding with incredulous laughter when he said, _look, at what good friends they are, Abby, platonically kissing_. _Such good friends_ , Abby agreed, grinning at them from the grill, _isn’t that how you are with Thelonious and Marcus, Jake? I always insist that Callie, my platonic friend, sit in my lap and kiss my face_.

Lexa had laughed while Clarke rolled her eyes and admitted, _fine, we’re dating now_. _What_ , Jake asked, hand to his heart and eyes comically wide, _Abby, did you know about this_? Abby’s eyes were just as wide when she said, _how would I have guessed, Jake? They’re just so friendly_. Clarke had said _I hate you both_ , gone a little pink in the cheeks, and buried her face into the crook of Lexa’s shoulder, but she’d smiled a whole lot, too.

At least they only had to phone Lexa’s mother, since she lived halfway across the country. She’d feigned surprise, too, but it was much more convincing without being able to see her face.

When Lexa finally disconnects from Jake, Clarke is completely absorbed in her book, and she doesn’t notice until the brunette is flexing her feet in her lap.

Clarke looks up to see Lexa smiling at her, big and bright and amused, and the blonde smiles back because it’s the only natural reaction to a face like that.

“So,” Lexa says, “how come you never talk about the Griffin Games?”

Everything around Clarke seems to go still. She closes her book and drops it onto the bench between them and looks straight ahead. It’s too soon. The next Griffin Games aren’t supposed to take place until next year. Clarke has barely recovered from the last ones.

She keeps her face as impassive as she can, trying for a haunted look when she says, “I don’t speak of the Griffin Games in off years. I spend my life trying to forget the horrors I’ve seen.”

Apparently, Clarke’s attempt at being haunting comes off as being more laughable, because Lexa snorts and says, “I guess it’s time to talk about it, Lieutenant Dan. Jake said they got moved up to this year. Next month, actually, since Tyler asked Joe and Sarah for their blessing to propose when Leah graduates in December.”

“Goddamn Tyler,” Clarke says, even though she should’ve anticipated this and is sure that Leah’s practically going to implode with happiness.

“Don’t tell any of your cousins, though,” Lexa warns her, “Jake, Abby, and all the aunts and uncles know, plus Grandma and Grandpa Griffin, but they don’t want the surprise getting ruined for Leah.”

“Then why’d Dad tell you,” Clarke asks incredulously.

Lexa shrugs and says, “I’m the only one who can keep a secret, I guess.”

“You literally told me within seconds of finding out,” Clarke argues.

“ _We’re_ the only ones who can keep a secret, then,” Lexa amends, raising her eyebrows at the blonde.

Clarke considers it for a second, and then realizes that Lexa’s probably right, even though the two of them couldn’t even be in the same room without half the Griffins picking up on something they were actively denying. Each one of her cousins flits through her mind, and so do all the ways they’d let the secret slip.

Noah would probably do something embarrassing, like reminisce over his memories of Leah learning to walk or going to her first middle school dance. Dylan would just give them a series of his smarmiest smirks. Audrey would immediately start a wedding registry started on their behalf, and revive the lectures she gave before her own wedding. The others would be even worse.

Clarke shudders.

“We really should’ve gotten in on that engagement bet,” Clarke says.

“Who says I’m not swooping in and beating him to the punch,” Lexa asks, arching an eyebrow and then straining forward to kiss Clarke’s cheek. The blonde deflates when she adds, “Just kidding. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of the Griffin Games.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst at self-imposed deadlines, especially since I'm working on a couple different things at once, so I won't make any outlandish promises on when, but, I think this needs a fifth chapter. The way I see it, we've still gotta know what Grandma Griffin thinks of these two finally getting together, and the Griffin Games seem like as good a location as any.
> 
> Mostly, I've gotten so much love for this fic that I want to leave you guys on a fluffy, Griffin-tastic high note just so you all know how much I've appreciated your enthusiasm and encouragement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not the games just yet, but a little background info.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, so I figured I'd add this brief interlude before the games.

“You still with me,” Clarke asks when she realizes how quiet Lexa has been for the last few minutes.

The brunette nods without looking up, flips through the three-ring binder Clarke has open on the table before her, and says, “Just trying to process it all.”

Five hours ago, Lexa was comfortably sprawled on a park bench, her legs in Clarke’s lap, and her biggest concern in the world seemed to be whether or not she needed to reapply sunscreen. Clarke was eerily calm after the shock of the upcoming Griffin Games wore off. She sighed once, mumbled something about getting to work, and pulled a detailed plan for the rest of their Sunday seemingly out of nowhere.

The best course of action, Clarke decided then, was to split up to get a jumpstart on all the perfunctory tasks they normally put off until the evening, and then to rendezvous at Clarke’s place for what she vaguely described as necessary preparation.

When Lexa showed up with Chinese takeout and a bottle of Clarke’s favorite cheap wine, she assumed she was in for a long walk down memory lane, or some ranting about the games, or a detailed summary of what exactly Clarke’s been not talking about for as long as they’ve known each other.

In all these years of friendship, and these months of girlfriendship, Lexa should’ve known better.

As soon as she made it through the door, Clarke steered her right to the kitchen table, where the blonde took the food and wine from Lexa’s hands and replaced them with a large, navy binder. Lexa sat down with it, at Clarke’s insistence, while the blonde dug food out of the bag and filled their wine glasses.

In silver Sharpie, the cover simply read _Griffin Games. Est. 2000_.

Lexa ran her fingers over the cover while Clarke moved around the kitchen, laughed, and said, “I never pegged you for the scrapbooking type.”

Clarke laughed right back, dropped the silverware she’d grabbed for Lexa on the table, peeled the binder open to the first page, which read _Griffin Games Ultimate Strategy Guide_ , and said, “I’m not into scrapbooking, babe. I’m into winning.” 

Lexa has had a lot to process since then.

Across from her, Clarke’s been in the midst of a long and extremely thorough history of the games that’s barely paused long enough to allow her to bite off and chew a few pieces of her eggroll. She had skipped over the bold printed index, where Lexa could’ve sworn she saw a bullet point labeled _Strengths and Weaknesses_ under a section called _Competitors_ , to lead the brunette on an illuminating journey to understanding the games.

There are pictures, plenty of them, in fact, but Clarke was right, this is no scrapbook. It’s the holy grail of navigating the Griffin Games.

Now, Lexa knows that next month’s games will be the seventh occurrence of the event, which usually takes place over the course of a weekend every three years, and started as a way to get the whole family together one last time before the oldest of Grandma and Grandpa Griffin’s grandkids left for college.

The first games set the groundwork for all the descendants of June and Bill Griffin to come together, divide themselves into teams, and endure a series of uniquely challenging events. They spent two days competing, alternately encouraging and trash talking each other, keeping score every step of the way. The winners went home with bragging rights and all the glory that came with earning a small, plastic trophy and a gift card each. The losers went home with their tails between their legs and a three-year-long lust for vengeance. Or, at least Clarke claims she would’ve, had she not been on the winning team that year.

According to the blonde, she was only seven, and the youngest Griffin allowed to compete that year. The teams were small, the stakes were low, and she swears her competitive nature was borne the second she was declared the winner of the tie-breaking obstacle course race.

That was before the barrage of Griffin weddings and births of the last decade or so, but they’d all decided to keep it going, since it was such a great excuse to see everyone at once.

Since then, the teams have grown as the youngest three Griffin cousins have come of age, and two of the oldest Griffin cousins have children old enough to compete. They’ve also grown to accommodate Aunt Julie’s amicable divorce and remarriage. The stakes have raised, with years of hard fought battles and carefully cultivated rivalries, although Lexa can’t tell if the whole rivalry thing is unique to Clarke, or if all the Griffins are slaving away over detailed record keeping devices for years at a time.

Apparently, Clarke hasn’t been on the winning team since the fourth iteration of the games, when she was sixteen. The way she tells it, Clarke was in top form representing the blue team that year, and swept the board in most of her events. That was, incidentally, the same year Uncle Joe wound up on bedrest after the limbo competition, Abby and Aunt Janine almost sunk a rented paddleboat in a lake, and a five-year-old Henry cried his way through the egg and spoon race because he was assigned to the blue team, instead of yellow, which was his favorite color.

Unlike the annual Griffin Family Christmas gathering, which always happens at the Grandparents’ house, the location of the games changes each time, with Jake and his three siblings rotating as hosts. This year, everyone is convening in Georgia, where Aunt Julie lives her husband, Uncle Pablo, and Henry, and Clarke fully intends to be on the winning team.

When Clarke gets through the history of the games, she moves seamlessly into the events, while Lexa dutifully allows the blonde to flip to the right section in the binder. Some of them, like the water-balloon war and the obstacle course happen every year, while others change. The first year, most of the events were either speed or coordination based picnic games, but every subsequent year, the adults who plan it have tried to incorporate a little something for everyone.

Clarke has a few pictures from past years: of a teenage Dylan, his sweaty mop of hair covering his eyes while he destroys Uncle Joe’s wife, Aunt Sarah, at _Dance Dance Revolution_ ; of Jake, Grandpa Griffin, and Noah in yellow shirts, piecing together the only go-kart that would be able to support a rider and cross the finish line in one piece, in a matter of hours; of Katie, small enough to still be missing her front teeth, grinning and showing off the rind of the massive watermelon she devoured while her older, larger challengers stand behind her with their unfinished wedges.

“Wait,” Lexa says, stopping Clarke from flipping forward, a smile spreading when she sees the last picture on the page, “why don’t you talk about the games, though? It looks like a good time.”

She’s looking fondly at Clarke in a red shirt and a potato sack, beaming with one arm around Leah’s shoulder and one of her older cousins holding up bunny ears behind them.

“It is,” Clarke starts, staring at her own much younger face, “but some of us take it more seriously than others.”

“I’m going to take a gamble and say you’re one of the ones who takes it _very_ seriously, based on this ten-pound binder.”

“It’s not even a pound,” Clarke argues, crossing her arms.

Lexa picks up the book with both hands, careful not to lose her page, looks the blonde in the eye and says, “Three, at least.”

“It’s a hobby,” Clarke shrugs, “and I’m somehow not even the most competitive.”

“Tell that to whichever rainforest you leveled for this thing,” Lexa says with a smirk.

“Very funny.”

“I honestly can’t believe anyone in your family is doing more than _this_ to prepare for every Griffin Games. Except maybe Audrey, but she’s…Audrey,” Lexa says.  
Clarke snorts.

“Believe it,” she says, reaching past Lexa to peek ahead. She skips a chunk of pages until they’re in one of the sections Lexa thought she saw in the index. _Competitors_. Lexa wants to laugh when she gets to the alphabetized section, but the blonde powers through pages of names, pictures, and impressively specific statistics until she finds the one she’s looking for.

_Mitchell_.

“I should’ve expected that,” Lexa says, recognition dawning on her when she sees his name just between Michael and MJ, Mitchell’s oldest son.

“Audrey is a crazy person who absolutely has a binder just like mine,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes and leaning an elbow on the table, “and she probably even bedazzles it or something, but, and I swear I’ll deny it with my dying breath if you ever tell her I said this, she’s my favorite opponent.”

Lexa laughs, because, of course, Clarke and Audrey love competing against each other.

The blonde finds flips to back to the first page of the section where Audrey’s entry is sandwiched between Abby and Grandpa Bill, carefully wedging one hand between pages to hold her place, and taps her finger absentmindedly against a picture of a much younger Audrey. Lexa almost doesn’t recognize her, maybe ten-years-old with stick-straight auburn hair instead of the gently curled dark brown that Lexa’s so used to, sneering formidably in a green shirt and matching bandana, standing atop an otherwise puny-looking three-person pyramid with one foot planted firmly on Aunt Julie’s ex-husband Zeke’s back and the other on Aunt Julie’s then-new husband Pablo’s.

“I mean, we’ve been competing for as long as I can remember at literally everything, but it’s mostly because we respect each other, I think. If anyone’s going to beat me in a one-on-one Griffin Games event, I want it to be her,” Clarke admits.

“That’s oddly sweet,” Lexa says, laying a hand on the blonde’s forearm, “I’m sure you’re one of her best friends, too.”

Clarke rolls her eyes even harder this time.

“Don’t be gross, I’m still getting her a cheap, tacky blanket whenever she and Michael decide to spawn, and you can’t stop me,” the blonde says, as though Lexa is already trying to stop her, “Audrey and I both like winning, and that’s not going to change, but at least it’s always fun with her. Mitchell’s the most competitive person I’ve ever met, way more than Audrey, even, and he’s a huge douche about it.”

Lexa’s only met Mitchell twice, once at the family Christmas gathering when he was boasting about how many boxes he carried up from the basement at once and wrinkling his nose at the idea of going caroling in February, and again at Audrey’s wedding when he was droning on about the high school sports he coaches when he isn’t busy teaching Geography.

Come to think of it, Lexa isn’t surprised at all.

“I know that the Griffins are, for the most part, way closer than the average big family,” Clarke says, and Lexa agrees, considering she knows plenty of people with big families who aren’t in group texts with their cousins, and wouldn’t drive for hours to see each other play a washboard or perform in the ensemble of a community theater production or screen a very low budget indie film, like most of Clarke’s cousins are willing to do, even without parental guilt trips, and even across multiple state lines, “but, Mitchell’s different. He only drops in on the group text if he wants to brag about his baseball team going to state, or getting invited to some football luncheon at his old college.

“It wouldn’t bug me if he just wasn’t in all that stuff. He’s in his thirties, and he has a family and a job. I don’t expect him to check up on the group text, just like I don’t expect it from the twins,” Clarke says, referring Skylar and Sebastian, Noah and Henry’s older siblings and the only other thirty-something Griffin grandkids, “but he always finds time to drop in and make things about him, and it drives me nuts. I can ignore it for years at a time, or avoid it, at least, but it’s always in my face during the games.”

The blonde frowns down at the picture on his page, one of Mitchell flexing for the camera while Dylan and Noah mock his pose in the background.

Lexa takes a few bites of cold shrimp fried rice while her girlfriend collects her thoughts.

“Mitchell and I were only on the same team twice,” Clarke explains, “and both times were miserable. The first time, we lost, and he put all the blame on Leah and Aunt Janine, _his own mother_ ,” she emphasizes, “because they didn’t guard our team’s flag well enough. And, he started calling me butter fingers when we lost the egg toss. I was ten, by the way, and I’m honestly not sure he ever stopped.”

“How old was Mitchell?”

Clarke thinks for a few seconds, “Eighteen, maybe.”

“Yikes,” Lexa says with a grimace, “What about the second time.”

“We won the whole thing and he decided it was because Henry got traded to the yellow team, since it was the only way to get him to stop crying, and Uncle Greg joined the blues to help Mitchell dominate the three-legged relay and the stupid long pass contest, which was only added to stroke his ego, as if it needed any stroking.”

Lexa doesn’t interrupt ask whether Clarke actually hates the long pass contest because she can’t throw a football to save her life. The blonde is still ramping up, so Lexa bites into a wonton and lets her.

“Audrey’s a pain in the ass, during the games and in everyday life, but she’s not actually a self-centered jerk. Mitchell’s head is so far up his own ass that he asked Dylan who you were the last time we saw him.”

“I mean, we’d only met once before then, Clarke. I only really remembered him because he and Dylan are practically twins,” Lexa shrugs, remembering how startling it was to see Dylan’s face, or a slightly fuller version of it, on his stocky, buzzcut-bearing older brother.

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, “but you’d only met half the other Griffins once, and you made an impression on all of them. Even the little kids. Mitchell Jr. gave you a bigger hug than he gave me.”

“I’m good with kids,” Lexa says around a mouthful of Clarke’s abandoned eggroll.

“You’re good with everyone,” Clarke tells her, stealing what’s left of the eggroll back to finish it herself, “The entire family saw how special you were to me, but Mitchell only ever really sees himself, and it’s about ten times worse during the games. He acts like he’s always the game changer on a winning team, but, somehow, it’s always somebody else’s fault if he loses. He’s a giant baby, and I know it’s terrible of me, but nothing makes the games more fun for me than seeing him lose.”

Clarke shrugs and takes a sip of her wine when she says it, but she doesn’t quite meet Lexa’s eyes.

The brunette isn’t surprised, exactly. Clarke really is one of the most competitive people she’s ever met. Lexa’s seen Clarke’s eyes go all wild when she’s battling a stranger for a decent parking spot, and she’s watched her pace around the living room lamenting when some other teller at her bank beats her to a promotional goal. Lexa knows Clarke cares about winning, and she knows the other woman abhors losing, and they’ve always had that in common. Still, it is a little strange for Clarke to be so adamant about defeating any one person.

Well, any one person who isn’t Audrey, at least.

“Wait,” Lexa says, catching Clarke’s eye, “so you secretly loathe Mitchell because he’s so competitive that it makes the games less fun, and your revenge is to be hyper competitive? You know that’s a little…”

Lexa trails off when Clarke fixes her with a raised eyebrow.

“First,” Clarke starts, her cheeks tinged pink and holding a finger a in the air, “loathe is a _very_ strong word, Lexa. He’s my cousin, so I’m obligated to love him, but I like him better when he doesn’t have anything new to brag about.”

“My mistake,” Lexa says, resting her chin on her fist and hiding the beginning of a smile behind her knuckles.

“Second,” the blonde says indignantly, another finger darting up beside the first, “I like to think that my healthy love for competition is less aggressive and offensive than Mitchell’s, but you’ll see when we get there.”

“Right,” Lexa drawls, “the word ‘nemesis’ in all-caps under his name is downright passive.”

Clarke huffs at her, “I’m thorough and it keeps me focused.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” the brunette says, hands up in surrender.

“And,” Clarke adds, “I don’t recruit the little kids for sabotage, whereas Mitchell once convinced Katie to run in the wrong direction during a foot race to knock down another team.”

“You’re a saint among Griffins,” Lexa says indulgently.

The blonde pouts and says, “I know you’re being sarcastic, but you’re going to appreciate my careful research, and all the tips in this binder, when we win this year.”

“We,” Lexa questions, settling further back into her chair, “What if I end up on another team, selling away all these secrets in exchange for prime social capital?”

“That’s not happening,” Clarke snorts, “Couples are always on the same team during their first games together. It’s tradition. You’re stuck taking Mitchell down with me.”

“And if he ends up on our team?”

“Then I’ll grudgingly allow him to succeed where he can, focus my attentions on all the other potential threats, and prepare myself to hear him gloat about whatever amazing thing he thinks he did to turn the games in our favor,” Clarke says, “but I won’t like it.”

“You’re ridiculous. You know that, right?”

“Maybe,” the blonde says, “but you love it.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, but tugs Clarke’s arm until the blonde is sliding out of her chair and onto Lexa’s lap, and says, “I tolerate it.”

Clarke narrows her eyes, pinches Lexa’s thigh, and waits for the brunette to fix her answer.

“Fine,” Lexa says, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist, “God help me, I love your special brand of insanity.”

“Ditto,” Clarke says, her face softening. She presses a kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth and turns her attention back to the binder, “Now stop distracting me. We have a lot of work to do, and it doesn’t all revolve around Mitchell.”

Lexa squeezes Clarke’s middle and lets her launch back into preparation; Mitchell isn’t the only threat left to consider, after all.

She has a sneaking suspicion that the blonde is just getting started, especially when she starts reciting statistics about the other Griffins, so Lexa settles in, lets Clarke get comfy in her lap, and fills up on food, wine, and Clarke’s special brand of insanity.

 

 

When the day comes for Clarke and Lexa to head down to Julie and Pablo’s house in Georgia, the brunette is almost as much of an expert as Clarke, thanks to the blonde’s incessant strategy talk. If asked, Lexa could rank each Griffin by Clarke’s perception of how competitive they are, by how big a threat the blonde believes they are, or by their number of Games wins. She’s also well-versed in the mechanics of most of the past events, and prepared for any of them, thanks to Clarke’s surprisingly rigorous training regimen.

Lexa can count the number of times she’s been able to drag Clarke to a gym in the last few years on one hand, but the blonde’s been putting her to work for weeks with elaborate obstacle courses in her apartment and at a park nearby. They’ve gone swimming and hit the batting cages, they’ve borrowed Lincoln’s dusty old PlayStation 2 and both his Karaoke Revolution and Dance Dance Revolution accessories. There have been hours of bocce ball practice, frisbee tossing, and dart throwing. Clarke even suggested high intensity interval training, and Lexa had to sweet talk her all the way down to a few light jogs each week.

It’s been the strangest month of Lexa’s life, probably.

The brunette is mentally, physically, and emotionally prepared to help Clarke secure her third victory (and Mitchell’s loss, because her girlfriend may be insane, but Lexa can’t turn down that face).

There’s only one obstacle she isn’t ready for, and it presents itself within seconds of crawling out of the backseat of Jake and Abby’s Suburban after Clarke.

Every year, Grandma and Grandpa Griffin are tasked with sorting the family into their color-coded groups before any of them have arrived to compete, and the list they make is printed alphabetically and enlarged for everyone to see.

Clarke always finds her name near the top, and this year it’s in bold, yellow capital letters. She’s smiles and reminds Lexa that her first win was a yellow team win, and she’s still smiling when she goes looking for confirmation of what she already knows: that Lexa will be on her team.

Lexa watches Clarke trail her finger down the list, until she finds what she’s looking for, and then Lexa watches that smile slip.

A little more than halfway down the list, they find Lexa’s name, but it isn’t written in near-goldenrod letters.

It’s typed in forest green.

And, two spaces down, so is Mitchell’s.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's sure she can talk her grandparents into putting Lexa where she belongs.
> 
> (A little filler because I'm a delinquent writer and took a much longer break from this fluffy little thing than anticipated and somehow started a million other things in the meantime.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this fic exactly, I just told myself one day that I'd put it down until I felt as sunny and bubbly as I want this story to feel. After several months of not really making that work, I've decided to switch that whole mindset arounsd, so now I'm going to aspirationally write happy, fluffy garbage until I feel the way I hope (most of) my work does.
> 
> All that to say: I haven't given up on this fic, and I appreciate that you haven't yet either!  
> Thanks for reading!

Clarke’s index finger presses hard enough into the roster of names taped to the short, wooden sandwich board in the front yard that the paper starts to crumple under the pressure before Lexa decides to gently pry it away. Even then, with Lexa easing her back, Clarke’s eyes are glued to the list, roving up and down. She triple-checks to be sure of what she’s seeing.

Clarke is on the yellow team, where she belongs, because, even if she doesn’t consider herself to be particularly superstitious, something about returning to the color that yielded her favorite win feels right. But Lexa? Lexa’s name is bold-typed in the same shade as Mitchell’s, and that? That’s just wrong.

She knows every single rule of these games, official and unofficial, backwards and forwards. She is painfully aware of the technicalities that can pad a team’s score at the last minute. She can predict exactly how dirty a participant can play before Grandpa Griffin calls them out on it, and which crossed lines will result in penalty points being taken away or awarded to the other teams.

For as little as she talks about these games in off years, Clarke is still _unofficially_ one of the leading experts in this family, and she’s absolutely certain that new couples are partnered together during their first games. She has plenty of evidence tucked away in the binder Lexa made her leave at home, not that she needs it after years of careful study and a month to refresh her memory.

When Aunt Julie got remarried, she and Uncle Pablo lost gracefully with the blue team. The first time Noah brought James along to the games, they both ended up sunburnt enough to blend with that year’s faded red t-shirts. Mitchell was right there to break Leslie’s fall when their team lost the muddiest game of tug of war ever played. Skylar accidentally concussed Robert while representing their team in beach volleyball. Much to Clarke’s chagrin, Audrey and Michael dominated charades in their first games together, barely utilizing the rest of the green team.

Hell, Sebastian has brought home three girlfriends over the years, and, every single time, they’ve played for his team.

If not a formal rule, it’s a tradition. Clarke refuses to be part of the pair that breaks it.

“This is fine,” she tells Lexa, “it’s a mistake. The grandparents usually highlight by hand, so they probably just didn’t know how to work the computer.”

“Are you sure,” the brunette asks, her fingers snaking from their place around the blonde’s wrist to tangle with Clarke’s.

“Positive,” Clarke says, “I bet they’ll just trade you to my team, and then we can start our quest for world domination.”

“World domination, now,” Lexa asks, raising an eyebrow, “I thought we were here for a games win.”

Clarke smirks, pecking the corner of her mouth for good measure, and says, “The games are a baby step. I have big plans for us.”

“You’ve got your mad genius face on,” Lexa tells her, swinging their hands between them.

“Just be glad you’re on this side of my mad geniusing,” Clarke says, kissing the other corner of Lexa’s mouth, “Will you be able to occupy yourself for a few minutes while I go hunt down my grandparents?”

“I think I’ll manage,” Lexa says, “Audrey and Michael look like they need help setting up the grand palace over there.”

Clarke looks across the yard in the direction where the brunette tips her head, where Julie’s yard ends and a small, leaf-bare cluster of trees begins, and rolls her eyes. Audrey had the exorbitant fourteen-person tent on the registry, and Clarke shouldn’t be surprised that she got it. From afar, it looks as though Michael is reading the directions while Audrey roams around jamming poles into the ground where they almost definitely don’t belong.

“Isn’t it supposed to take twenty minutes or less to set up? I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be that complicated,” Clarke says, and _maybe_ she briefly looked at the tent on the registry before she decided that towels were good enough—and a lot more cost effective—for a wedding present.

“Allegedly,” Lexa shrugs.

“Those two are helpless, I swear,” Clarke tells her, grateful, as always, for the tiny, easy-up tent she’s been using for the last decade.

“How about I fix that disaster, and you go do what you can to keep me from having to destroy you in front of your whole family.”

The brunette smirks even as Clarke musters up her best glare, pokes a finger into Lexa’s sternum, and says, “Like you could take me.”

“Have, and will again, sweetheart,” she practically purrs, this time throwing in a wink.

Clarke’s cheeks burn, but she manages a pointed, “Ditto,” that sends Lexa blushing just as furiously, and then says, “Get your cute face out of my face, Hawthorne, and pray I have mercy on you when we’re _actually_ playing for different teams.”

Lexa snorts as she disentangles her hand from Clarke’s and steps out of her orbit.

“I can’t wait to steal that nemesis title from Mitchell at the next games,” the brunette says as she turns away.

Before she can get out of reach, Clarke smacks her ass none-too-gently, and says, “Me neither, babe.”

Clarke doesn’t have to pay any attention to the wolf whistles they hear: one from Noah, who seems to have realized when Lexa did that Michael and Audrey are hopeless and stepped in to help, clear over by the trees; and another from Dylan, who’s leaning halfway out of the rear window of Leah’s small car at the end of the driveway in the opposite direction.

She rolls her eyes and leaves Lexa to deal with what promises to be some grade-A teasing from the others, then heads for the house, determined to straighten out her grandparents and get Lexa to where she belongs.

It _is_ tradition, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tradition, as it turns out, doesn’t hold as much weight in Grandma Griffin’s mind as it does in Clarke’s.

Tradition, as it turns out, doesn’t hold as much weight in Grandma Griffin’s mind as it does in Clarke’s.

The blonde finds her grandma in the kitchen, huddled conspiratorially with Skylar and Robert’s kids, Emma and David. There’s a colorful tin open in the old woman’s hand, and the kids are practically vibrating with excitement. Clarke laughs to herself when she realizes what’s happening.

Emma is taking little bites of whatever she gets, savoring each one, but her little brother is barely letting them settle in his pudgy palms before cramming them into his mouth. For her part, Grandma Griffin just keeps doling out the candy and grinning at their enthusiasm.

Grandma Griffin is notoriously liberal with passing out sweets to the little kids. There’s always some tin, or a jar, or a box, filled to the brim with all the fuel necessary to send the youngest Griffins bouncing from wall to wall, and no amount of begging from a parent can keep her from making sure it’s empty by the time everyone heads home. She’s always extra sneaky when it comes to Skylar’s children, since everyone knows they live in a granola household. Clarke genuinely likes Robert, and she has all the respect in the world for the stay-at-home-dadding he does while Skylar demolishes corporate glass ceilings, but the man is a certified sugar-hater.

“I spy with my little eye three very sneaky Griffins,” Clarke says, when even she’s a little concerned about their impending tummy aches.

Three guilt-ridden pairs of eyes snap to Clarke, and Grandma Griffin very slyly replaces the lid on top of the tin.

“That’s probably enough for now,” she makes a show of saying, but she gives a comically obvious wink that David might not understand, but Emma certainly does, if the huge smile spreading on her face is any indication. “Why don’t you two go play?”

The little boy pouts around his slobbery fistful of gummy bears until their grandma adds, “Don’t worry, the candy will still be here,” and pinches at his round belly until he giggles.

Clarke swears Emma gets at least an inch taller each time she sees her, and David may not be growing out of his toddler-body stoutness in any hurry, but he’s definitely not underfed.

“Come on, Davey,” Emma instructs, leading him by the hand toward the door, pausing just long enough to fold her lanky arm around Clarke’s hips and to smile up at her much older cousin with gobs of candy stuck where missing teeth should be and not-quite-whisper, “We love candy.”

Clarke laughs the kids out of the kitchen, ruffling David’s hair and trying not to be offended that the last few pieces have him distracted enough to pay her no mind.

“We’re going to need that sweet boy rolled out of here by the end of the weekend,” Grandma Griffin says, eyes sparkling in obvious delight.

“Forklifted, maybe,” Clarke suggests. If he’s already waddling around with a full belly, she doesn’t know how he’s going to make it to Sunday without slipping into full Snorlax mode.

Her grandma laughs for just a second before schooling it into a wide-eyed, guilty smile and pointing an accusing finger at Clarke. “Hush.”

“We’re almost in the same weight class.”

“You are not,” Grandma Griffin laughs, widening her eyes before opening her arms for Clarke to walk into, “You can’t tease the boy like that. You’ll give him a complex.”

Clarke enjoys the quintessential Grandma Griffin hug: a tight squeeze from thin arms; the same warm, rosewood perfume; wisps of wiry gray hair escaping a butterfly clipped up-do to tickle Clarke’s ear. This kind of hug, too, is tradition.

She’s not forgetting her purpose for coming in here, not by a long shot, but she knows better than to pass up the small window of time in which she doesn’t have to share her grandma with anybody else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll only say it behind his back,” Clarke half-jokes into her grandma’s shoulder.

“What am I going to do with you,” her grandmother asks, pulling back to fondly sift her fingers through the ends of Clarke’s hair. It’s wavy, probably a little frizzy from the nap she snuck in during the drive, and far shaggier than Clarke had it during the summer months, but her grandma has always liked it long.

“I wouldn’t say no to a few gummy bears,” the blonde shrugs.

Grandma Griffin shakes her head and opens the tin up to Clarke, just like she had for Emma and David, but she lets Clarke pull out the ones she wants—the whites, the greens, the reds.

While she’s looking down into the tin that her grandma patiently holds up for her, Clarke asks, as nonchalantly as she can, “So, what’s up with me and Lexa being on different teams?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kind of breaking with tradition, isn’t it?”

Not so much a question as it is a reminder.

When Clarke has picked out a handful of gummy bears, her grandma slides the lid on once more and sets the tin aside, narrowing her eyes even as she tilts her head to smile at her granddaughter.

“You know the rules, Clarke. Grandpa and I pick the teams at random.”

“Right,” Clarke agrees, “but couples are always on the same team.”

“Well, I don’t know how that could apply to you and Lexa,” Grandma Griffin says, but her smile curls just a little too much for Clarke to believe her, “you two were pretty clear about being _just_ friends.”

Grandma Griffin looks expectantly at Clarke and the blonde gapes at her in disbelief. There are no secrets in this sprawling, loud family, and she’s one hundred percent sure that she and Lexa have come up in the Griffin family gossip channel plenty of times. There’s no way her grandparents didn’t know.

 _Everyone_ knows.

Except, _maybe_ , Mitchell.

“Seriously, Grandma,” Clarke asks, arching an eyebrow and biting the head off a gummy bear.

“Oh,” the old woman says, her nostrils twitching almost imperceptibly, “have things changed?”

Processed sugar gloms onto Clarke’s teeth, sticking and clinging as she chews, staring down her grandmother.

“I’m just an old lady, Clarke. What do I know,” her grandmother asks.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

June Griffin may be old, and she may be a lady, but the woman is far from clueless. If the Griffin family rumor mill is up and running, it’s only because Grandma Griffin keeps it well-oiled. She’s responsible for plenty of the supply _and _the demand. There aren’t many secrets, or non-secrets, for that matter, that slip past her, and Clarke isn’t dense enough to believe this one would.__

__“We both know you know too much,” Clarke presses, biting off another head._ _

__“I don’t know anything you don’t want me to know, dear, or anything you don’t call to tell me,” she says, and the only thing keeping Clarke from rolling her eyes is a far-off concern that she isn’t too old to be put on time out._ _

__“Fine,” the blonde huffs, “if you really insist on pretending you don’t already know, Lexa and I are in love. With each other.”_ _

__Finally, the curling of her grandmother’s lips gives way to a wide, contagious smile. The old woman clasps her hands in front of her and grins at Clarke for a long moment, then, when that pose isn’t enough to contain her excitement, she’s throwing an arm around Clarke’s shoulders again, squeezing for all she’s worth._ _

__“Are you going to say it, or what,” Clarke asks, rolling her eyes even as she can’t fight off her own smile._ _

__“This time I _actually_ don’t know what you’re expecting,” her grandma promises, leaning back to look at her._ _

__“ _I told you so, Clarke. Old ladies know too much, Clarke. What took you so long, Clarke_ ,” the blonde rattles off, almost sure her grandmother wants to shout her satisfaction at being right from the rooftops using at least one of those phrases._ _

__“Now, why would I do that,” she asks, clicking her tongue at the blonde but refusing to release her one-armed hold._ _

__“Because it took you one weekend to figure out something I couldn’t see for years, maybe,” Clarke offers._ _

__“All I care about is that you two are happy,” the old woman says, letting her go with a final, breath-stealing squeeze. Clarke doesn’t get far before one of those thin, long fingers is pointing accusingly at her, and Grandma Griffin is adding, “and don’t insult me. I had my suspicions when you invited her, but I was certain within twenty minutes of meeting her.”_ _

__“But you’re not the gloating type,” Clarke reminds her with a laugh._ _

__“Exactly,” the old woman says, “grace comes with age, dear.”_ _

__“I’ll keep that one in mind,” Clarke says, tossing the few gummy bodies left in her palm into her mouth in an indiscriminate clash of flavor and working overtime to ask, “So, we’re good, right? Lexa’s on my team, now?”_ _

__That earns her another tilt of her grandmother’s head, and a full-throated laugh that would drop Clarke’s jaw if her mouth wasn’t full of candy._ _

__“Oh, sweetheart, no. Of course not,” Grandma Griffin says, as though she can’t quite believe her stubborn granddaughter would be so presumptuous. “Those teams are set in stone. We got t-shirts with your names on them weeks ago.”_ _

__“But—”_ _

__“Weeks ago,” she emphasizes, “they’re adorable.”_ _

__“What about—”_ _

__Somewhere, in the distance, Clarke can hear the front door swinging open, and the usual chaos of more Griffins arriving and embracing and preemptively trash-talking each other, and her grandmother puts up a single, impatient finger as she steps away from Clarke, toward the door._ _

__“Next time around, if it means that much to you, Lexa can be on your team,” she concedes, and there’s a clear air of finality that the blonde is painfully familiar with._ _

__This is a losing battle, and Clarke knows it, so she lets out a single, childish sigh and dutifully watches her grandmother’s slow path toward the door._ _

__“You’re killing me, Grams,” she says to the old woman’s back._ _

__“Waiting on you to make a move on that girl was killing me,” the old woman sasses, half under her breath, “I had half a mind to throw my hat in the ring.”_ _

__“Oh, my God, Grandma,” Clarke calls out as the old woman disappears beyond the doorway, “Not funny!”_ _

__“What? I went to a pride parade,” is the last thing she hears before the loud chorus of Griffin children either greeting or attacking her grandma in the other room._ _

__Instead of following behind her grandma, Clarke tries cornering her grandpa on the stairs in a last-ditch attempt to get Lexa on her team, but the old man is even less sympathetic than his wife. He laughs at her transparency, admits he’s glad Clarke _finally got her head out of her ass_ , and then asks her to hold off on telling her grandma, because, apparently, he has money riding on Clarke being in denial for a few more months._ _

__He also asks for an insider tip on the engagement bet that he’s somehow in on, so Clarke leaves him with an eyeroll, a hug, and a tease that everyone in this family is underestimating her if they don’t think she’d postpone her own engagement just to wreck their entire betting system and avenge the greatest Griffin Games injustice she’s experienced so far._ _


End file.
